


Based on Trust

by Izcana



Series: Thominho Week [3]
Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brief mention of rape/non-con, Day 3, Fantasy AU, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Thominho Week, Thominho Week 2020, thominho - Freeform, tmwd3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:26:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28129860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Izcana/pseuds/Izcana
Summary: "I'm Thomas O'Brien." Instantly, the spear was back at his neck, marking the same spot. Everyone knows about Thomas O'Brien. He was the notorious behind-the-scenes (but famous nonetheless) plotter for all of WICKED's schemes, hence why they always won. It was rumoured that he, along with 3 other teenagers, were geniuses. No one knew what his colour was, but it was suspected that he was a Blue, which meant he had telekinesis because there were rumours of him using the aforementioned ability to help WICKED capture Nick, the former leader of the Glade tribe. He was proclaimed dead."I swear I'm not here with WICKED, or for them," Thomas continued, raising his mud-smudged hands higher. "I've stopped helping them a while ago," he added bitterly.
Relationships: Minho/Thomas (Maze Runner), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Thominho Week [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2024494
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19
Collections: Pieces of Thominho, Thominho Week 2020





	Based on Trust

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Safr2n](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Safr2n/gifts), [Artemis_Autumn_Marie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artemis_Autumn_Marie/gifts).



> Thominho Week Day 3: Fantasy AU
> 
> Warning: there is some violence throughout the story, as well as a description of torture. There is also a mention of rape/non-con, and though it is not described, it is still referenced to, so proceed with caution.
> 
> Beta read by the fabulous [Safr2n](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Safr2n), a [Thominho Ramble](https://discord.gg/HfEDS8wSrp) penpal! Her Thominho works (and she has them in French) are amazing, so make sure you check them out as well!

It was Minho's turn to patrol, and while he was usually more relaxed about his job (not that he slacked off – protecting the Glade was very important, after all), he was on high alert today. Minho could feel energy burning in his veins, the adrenaline threatening to be released. His muscles were taut, ready to throw his spear at the first glance of an invader.

Minho had his binoculars up, and peering through them, he saw nothing. Or...something. Someone.

Before the boy could blink, Minho had him held up by the collar, the head of the rusty spear pointed at his neck. "Wait, don't kill me!" The boy cried, throwing his hands up. 

Minho rolled his eyes (that's what they all said), but loosened his grip slightly, making sure the boy had enough oxygen to speak. "Who are you and why are you in Glade territory?" 

He could see that the boy was in very bad shape; his bony cheekbones were scraped with deep cuts that were gushing red, and at his pale throat, there was the brand of Minho's lance. He was bruised from what seemed to be hands, and the amount of dirt and dried blood on him was indescribable. 

"I'm Thomas O'Brien." Instantly, the spear was back at his neck, marking the same spot. Everyone knows about Thomas O'Brien. He was the notorious behind-the-scenes (but famous nonetheless) plotter of all of WICKED's schemes, hence why they always won. It was rumoured that he, along with 3 other teenagers, were geniuses. No one knew what his colour was, but it was suspected that he was a Blue, which meant he had telekinesis because there were rumours of him using the aforementioned ability to help WICKED capture Nick, the former leader of the Glade tribe. He was proclaimed dead. 

"I swear I'm not here with WICKED, or for them," Thomas continued, raising his mud-smudged hands higher. "I've stopped helping them a while ago," he added bitterly.

Minho raised a brow at the bitterness. "What's your colour, then?"

"Green," Thomas said slowly, and Minho gasped involuntarily. Not telekinesis, then. Greens were the most powerful of all; they had telepathy and could bend others' will. However, this required tremendous amounts of energy, and Minho didn't think Thomas was desperate enough to try it yet. The key word being _yet_ , which was why he needed to get the neutralising muzzle on him immediately.

A few decades ago, WICKED (with the help of Thomas, of course) had created a muzzle that allowed abilities to be blocked. After one WICKED member carrying this muzzle had been captured, the muzzle was spread to WICKED's enemies by the leaders of each group. It had become the most useful tool for blocking the abilities of powerful rivals.

"I'm putting the muzzle on you," Minho said slowly, pressing the tip of the spear into the pale tissue, making sure to avoid the centre vein. As much as he resented the guy for working with WICKED, he didn't want to kill him _just yet_. "You're not going to move, or this is going through your neck. I know you don't have the strength to stop me right now."

"I know, too," Thomas said, letting out a soft whimper when the spear sunk in more. "It's called the A54B Model, by the way, not 'The Muzzle'. I'm not a mutt."

Minho rolled his eyes as he used his left hand to unbuckle the muzzle and slip it onto Thomas' face. Thomas shuddered when it touched his skin, and cried out loud when Minho tightened the strap. "Can you take the spear out, now?" Thomas' soft voice shook Minho out of his thoughts about how the muzzle (the A54B Model, whatever!) looked so inhumane on the bruised, cut skin.

"I'm watching you, so you're not going anywhere."

"I won't be," Thomas whispered, but Minho caught it. He was an Orange, after all, and Oranges had sharpened senses, hence why he was often chosen for patrolling. "I'm here to give you information about WICKED."

"Why should I believe you?" Minho asked casually, thrusting the bloodied spear tip to Thomas' nape and allowing it to sink in a little. "Why would you suddenly decide to give us, WICKED's _rival_ , information about WICKED?"

"I'm not working with them anymore," Thomas insisted, following the direction Minho was poking at. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"I'm not telling you here," Thomas huffed. "I'm telling all of you together. I don't think I can talk for very long with the A54B Model on. It sends electric shocks if I think too much."

"You invented it," Minho deadpanned. "And you...don't 'think' you can talk for very long? As in 'you don't know for sure'?"

"It wasn't supposed to have the electric shock," Thomas said, walking heedlessly towards the cottages. "Chancellor Paige changed it."

"Keep going," Minho said, prodding him with just the amount of force for him to feel it, but not to cut through the back of the destroyed shirt.

* * *

"Who did you bring back, Minho?" Alby, a fellow Orange and the current leader of the Glade, huffed. "You're supposed to kill infringers."

"Alby," Newt (Second-In-Command) rebuked, willing the water bottle in Alby's hand to smack him. And _that_...was why Minho hated telekinesis. "He's obviously got a buggin' purpose."

"Duh," Minho uttered, gesturing to Thomas.

"Well?" Alby demanded, raising his brows. "I ain't got all day, ya know?"

"Who's he?" Newt inquired, gesturing loosely towards Thomas' limp figure that had collapsed onto the ground from fatigue. Thomas' knees had buckled immediately after they reached the Gathering hall, and the poor boy had been too exhausted that Minho simply could not find the will to wake him up. 

"Thomas O'Brien," Minho smirked. "Coming with 'information about WICKED'," he added, making air-quotes.

"Is he lying?" Alby asked. 

"How am _I_ supposed to know?" Minho groaned. "If I take a guess, I'd say no. He's extremely outnumbered, not to mention wearing his own invention, and it was definitely real bitterness when I asked him why he wasn't being WICKED's pet." 

"What colour?" The blonde asked. "Is he Blue?"

"No, Green," Minho sighed. "That's why I put the muzzle on."

"What should we do with him, then?"

"Let's put him in the spare bedroom. We can have Minho sit next to him and wait for him to wake up," Newt offered, exchanging a meaningful look (that Minho didn't understand) with the dark-skinned boy, and Alby nodded in agreement. It was, in Minho's (and every other Glader's, but let's not mention that) firm view that Newt and Alby should kiss already.

"Good idea," Alby appraised. "Minho, you're in charge of him. Don't kill him."

"I'll murder him in his sleep, Alby," Minho nodded, and Alby nodded, resigned. That was the closest thing to "yes" you would get out of Minho.

* * *

"You're awake," Minho muttered dully at Thomas, who blinked owlishly at his surroundings. If he wasn't working with the enemy, Minho would've thought it was quite cute. "Put on this shirt and hurry up, you're going to the Gathering."

Thomas nodded. "What's a Gathering? Where did you get the shirt? What's going on? Why –––"

Minho groaned. He did _not_ have the time to deal with useless questions right now. "Shut up, Shank, and just do what you're told!"

"What's a –––"

"Shut up, Thomas!" The Asian shouted, clenching his fists. He felt bad for Ava Paige if she had to put up with this nonsense. "Stop asking questions."

Thomas shrunk down, curling his shoulders. "Sorry. A.D. Janson did always say that I asked too many questions."

Minho assumed he was referring to Rat Man, who was the Assistant Director of WICKED. If he didn't know from experience already, he would have told Thomas not to believe the opinion of a snake's (or rather, a rat?) twisted mind, but now that he's been with Thomas for himself...yeah, _no_ , this is one of those rare situations where he would agree with Rat Man – Thomas really did talk too much and ask too many questions.

"Whatever," Minho grumbled. "Get changed and let's go. Make it quick."

"Fine," Thomas tossed back. "Aren't you going to turn around?" He demanded when Minho stayed where he was.

"I'm not going to risk you escaping, duh," Minho said, scratching at his spear.

The younger boy gulped. "You...are going to watch _me_ change?"

"Yup," Minho confirmed, popping the 'p'. "Hurry up."

Reluctantly, Thomas peeled the destroyed cloth off his lean frame to reveal more bruises and very prominent ribs. The muscle of his arms was lean, but definitely there, and Minho thought he had a great butt.

"Can we go now?" Thomas asked after he pulled on the oversized shirt. Since Minho had a larger frame than Thomas, the shirt hung off one shoulder, and Thomas practically swam in it. 

"That's what I was waiting for," Minho muttered. "Come on, I'm trusting you not to try to run here..."

"I won't!" Thomas insisted. "I'm here to give you information, why would I run?"

"Slim it," the black-haired Keeper glared. "No one's going to _actually_ believe the lies WICKED sends us."

Thomas sighed. "I swear, I'm _actually_ trying to help here! I'm giving you valid information! Why do you think I'm injured, huh? WICKED tried so hard to stop me from leaving," Thomas added. "They're probably torturing my friends right now. If you have a Purple to verify my answers..." Purples could read emotions.

"No, we don't, unfortunately," Minho told him, resigned. "He's off on patrol. We'll pretend to believe you. For now."

Thomas huffed out a breath. "Fair enough, I guess?"

* * *

"Why are you here?" Alby's voice boomed through the Gathering Hall.

Minho, being Keeper of the Scouters/Runners (the patrol team) was permitted to attend the Gathering. So were Newt (Second-in-command) and a dozen other Keepers, not all of whom Minho knew.

"I'm here to deliver information about WICKED," the brunet said slowly and carefully. His practised tone implied a lot of public speaking. If Minho didn't know any better, he'd think Thomas wasn't nervous at all. 

Before they had come to the Gathering Hall, Minho had taken Thomas to the Med-jacks on a whim. After the med-jacks had patched him up, Thomas looked a lot healthier: his skin less pale, the bruises against his cheekbones momentarily soothed; his hair clean, the soft, fluffy brown locks returning to its' original glamour; his milky arms previously littered with scrapes patched up with pieces of linen; the marks of his neck from Minho's spear wrapped with a soft bandage.

"What are you _actually_ doing here?" Alby demanded. Minho snorted internally. Did Alby really think that was going to get the truth out of the Newbie if he was lying?

"I'm _actually_ here to deliver information about WICKED," Thomas replied again in that monotonous manner. "I'm _not_ lying."

"Listen here, Greenie," Alby started, and Minho huffed a sigh. That was the usual start to another long lecture. "I've been the leader of the Glade for a while. I know that WICKED are our enemies. Shuck, _everyone_ knows! And for the infamous Thomas O'Brien to visit us...something's definitely up."

"Yeah, something is up," Thomas said bitterly. "What's up is that WICKED is going to attack you soon, _Albert_ , and you should be ready. You'd be a fool if you weren't."

"How do we know if what you're saying is even true?" Newt interjected, flagging his hand from his position against the wall. He was sitting on a chair, as were all the Keepers including Minho, but he had, during the Gathering, without Minho noticing, scooted to lean back against the wall. "For all we know, you're giving information so we can defend Alby and it's a trick or divergence. Or, you could be setting us up for failure."

Thomas smiled thinly. "I assume you're the military strategist for the Glade, then? You're doing a good job."

"I wasn't looking for compliments," Newt retorted. "Give me a reply to the question."

"You want an answer?" Thomas growled, agitated. "You want to know if what I'm saying is true? Well, would I work for WICKED if they killed my mum, huh? She's the only one I have left. Why else would I work for WICKED?"

"They..." Gally started. "Killed your mum?"

"Didn't I just say that?" Thomas asked, sniffing slightly. "They said it was a fever that took her, but _everybody_ knew that it was them. We all saw the body."

"I'm sorry," Newt whispered gruffly. Minho could tell he felt horrible, but he couldn't show that to Thomas.

"I'm sorry, too," Thomas said softly, shaking his head. Minho wanted to wrap him up in a hug, but refrained from touching Thomas, his hands stiff at his sides."That's why I came here. If WICKED can betray me, I can betray them."

"So that's what it is?" Alby asked, raising a brow. "Revenge?"

"Somewhat?" Thomas confirmed, shrugging. "Let's just say that I think their methods are unethical. I worked _for_ them. I'm working _with_ you now. That's a crucial difference."

"I don't see any," Minho said, speaking up for the first time.

"You will, soon," Thomas told him, his plump lips curving up into a soft smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, it's not completed yet, because I didn't want to write a 4000-word work all in one sitting.

**Author's Note:**

> This one ended up being a bit longer than I expected...  
> It's also kind of inspired by an imagine by imagine-thominho, but I simply cannot find it right now (sorry!).


End file.
